


Rules to Remember

by RebelxPen



Series: The Mannerly Series [1]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: 64th Hunger Games, Character Study, Effie behind the makeup, F/M, Original Characters - Freeform, Slow Build, lots of development, multiple canon characters to make appearances
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-22
Updated: 2015-12-07
Packaged: 2018-02-26 13:39:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2654036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RebelxPen/pseuds/RebelxPen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everybody has a beginning. For Effie Trinket, that came just two weeks after graduating with honors at the top of her class. She was made Escort of District 12. What happens when Prim and Proper meets Drunk and Disorderly? Rated M for later chapters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Interview

**Author's Note:**

> The story of how the girl became the escort, of how Effie Trinket disappeared behind the wigs, fashion, and makeup. This story follows Effie from receiving the position of District 12 Escort, her first impression of Haymitch Abernathy, and how the Hunger Games affect even her.

Rules to Remember:

1\. Keep pristine and proper manners at all times, holding the perfect posture and carriage. Appearance and charm matter.

2\. Keep your schedule with you at all times. Do not deviate.

3\. Never participate in public confrontation, do not allow anyone to see you shaken or flustered.

4\. Always smile. A cheerful countenance can be the key to salvaging even the most horrific social disasters.

Effie Trinket scribbled these four rules into the cover of her journal, she had them on a paper pinned to her bedroom wall after her first day of class in the Capitol School of Charm and Etiquette. She was only fifteen years old when she enrolled, and for the next seven years of her life, this school would be her home. They primped, trimmed, painted, tucked, and polished her, making her their doll as she went through the motions of becoming a prim and proper lady. Just two weeks after graduating with honors, and at the top of her class, Effie was given her first assignment. She would replace the District 12 Escort for the Hunger Games. It was one of the highest honors in the Capitol, everyone fought to earn a position as part of the Hunger Games, and yet so few ever actually made it. Those who did often didn’t last long, and that was worse than never making it at all. No one knew what happened to the employees who vanished, most didn’t. Effie, unfortunately, knew all too well. She knew first hand. 

Firmly, she put the memory from her mind and smoothed down the feathers of her dress, fluffed her shoulder ruffles, and pressed the button of the elevator to take her to the District 12 penthouse. Prompt, slightly early, Effie willed her heart to calm as she watched the lights climb the numbers of each floor, taking her to her interview with the current Escort of District 12—Darius Bolstram. Most escorts remained in their position indefinitely, trying to climb the ranks until they could someday—hopefully—make it to District 1, the golden district, or they did something to displease the Capitol and vanished like so many others. District 12 was a special case, a challenging case, and if one could last the year without giving up, or asking for a transfer, it earned you at least the respect of having a spine of steel.

Satisfied that she was as prepared as she would ever be, Effie raised her fist, knuckles delicate covered in white lace as she wrapped on the door. It opened almost instantly, and Effie felt her lashes tickle her cheeks as she looked up at him. He was the picture of a Capitol citizen. His posture was straight with a practiced control, years of training and practical application giving him a look of ease and nonchalance that she envied. His sense of style was perfect, every inch of him covered in the latest rage from his hair to his shoes. His skin was shining with a biologically enhanced blue tint and Effie only prayed her stylists would be so skilled. His hair and nails were deep purple with ice blue tips to draw everything together with a charming symmetry.

He was everything an escort should be and from the look of him, he knew it, too. His lavender eyes glanced over the small woman with a veiled disdain even as he smiled brightly and invited her in with a gallant swipe of his arm.

"Welcome, welcome!" His deep voice melted like butter as he reached out and took her gloved hand. 

Effie dropped her eyes demurely, a dainty smile shyly spreading over her lips, tinting her painted cheeks pink as she allowed him to pull her inside.

"I am Darius Bolstram, but I'm sure you know that! So very glad to meet you!" His deep blue lips barely brushed her knuckles as he brought her hand up for a kiss and Effie feared the color might stain her lace gloves, but when he drew away, she realized his lips were not covered in paint. They were yet another piece of his anatomy that had been enhanced by the Capitol. 

"My, my! They just get younger every year!" He shrugged with a sort of sigh and turned to lead the way to the couch where he took up a thick folder from the coffee table and flipped to the back. He glanced at a page and back to Effie, nodded, and smiled again. "Effie Trinket! I've heard good things about you, my dear! I have, indeed!"

Effie smiled again, blushing and settled herself in the offered seat. Nervously, she folded her hands in her lap, the feathers of her dress swallowing the tips of her fingers and hiding them. She was grateful that her stylists had insisted on the dress now, even as it tickled her knees, at least it could hide her trembling hands. Darius Bolstram spoke so quickly that she had trouble controlling her emotions as her training dictated, the urge to speak before her turn, to giggle like the school girl she was almost too strong and tempting. He was charming her with the best of his power, and Effie could do nothing to stop him. 

"Ah! She blushes. A rare gift, my dear girl! It's rare that anyone have a natural blush these days! Most pay fortunes for such a talent!” 

She felt her cheeks redden more, the blush spreading all the way to her ears as she cursed herself inwardly and willing her teeth not to clamp down on her lower lip—a terrible, nervous habit that ruined her color and infuriated her stylists. As she sat, Effie took great pains to ensure her posture was perfect, chin inclined just the right amount to offer the best angle for any cameras that might be nearby (a habit engrained from the first day of classes) as she hooked one foot daintily behind one ankle. Despite how intimidating Effie found Darius to be, she had a reputation for her perfect manners, her perfect posture, the perfect representation of a Capitol lady. She could be just as charming as Mr. Darius Bolstram, and she intended to show him.

“Thank you very much, Mr. Bolstram, it’s such a pleasure to meet you!” she purred cheerfully when he finally took a breath that allowed her the chance. “When my advisor gave the news that you wanted to meet with me, I was just beside myself with excitement! It really is an honor,” her smile was incandescent as she inclined her head in an almost reverent gesture. 

Of all the escorts, Darius Bolstram was the oldest at a ripe 40, and he’d left his touch on each District at as the only Escort to have worked through all of them. Two years ago he had been asked to return to District 12 by President Snow himself in hopes of taming the wild Victor that served as mentor for the team.

Darius preened under the praise, crossing one leg over the other and draping an arm over the armrest of his chair, tapping his pen on the edge, “The pleasure is all mine,” he replied politely, “You’ve earned the attention of many in the higher circles. Word has spread of your success. You’re breaking records, Miss Trinket.” 

Effie felt her cheeks heat again, only this time it was for another reason. Attention was always dangerous, but, she supposed good attention was better than bad. It was certainly better than none at all, as it would hopefully insure that she be considered invaluable someday. “I do try, Mr. Bolstram,” she shifted slightly, adjusting her shoulders to sit a little straighter. “I only wish to represent the Capitol well.”

He studied her a moment, his sharp lavender eyes taking her in before lowering to his paper to write something. While he did, Effie took a chance to roam the room, allowing him privacy as he wrote. The decor was elaborate, but where there should be history of past tributes, she found none. District 12 hadn't had a Victor since the 50th Hunger Games. There was a picture of the boy on the far wall, a banner hanging beneath the picture frame, bleached by the sun and years of going untouched. He looked to be no more than sixteen in the photo, dark wavy hair hung heavily on his head, coming just beneath his ears and going in all directions and shadowing piercing, deep set grey eyes. His mouth was a hard line, jaw clenched, and he glared into the camera as though he might come straight through the picture and destroy anyone who dared meet his gaze.

Haymitch Abernathy, Victor of the 50th Hunger Games!

District 12-Mining

Effie was transfixed, her breath slowing as she held the gaze of the boy in the photo. She had heard of Haymitch Abernathy, seen him in the media each year. He was a drunk now, an angry, violent, drunk who hated the world. He especially hated anyone and anything to do with the Capitol. It was common for Capitol Citizens to desire the Victors of the Hunger Games, finding excitement in the idea of the wildness that came out of them in the arena. Most years the career districts won, and they reveled in the attention poured out upon them, but Haymitch Abernathy, according to gossip, would have none of it.

_"He's positively wild!" Varinia Car, a friend from school had said one year. ”I’d just melt if he spoke to me! Imagine spending an hour or two with his arms around you! I wouldn't mind him slaying me!"_

_“Varinia!” Effie had gasped, appalled, “Really! Manners! Don't be vulgar! He's got to be in his thirties, at least! He's ancient! We're only seventeen, Varinia. The very idea is grossly inappropriate!"_

Effie had never understood the way everyone in the Capitol saw the Tributes from the Districts. Regardless of her training, her job, she was horrified and appalled at the idea of children being thrown into a fight to the death, but in Panem, one learns very early on that you do as you're told.

Darius cleared his throat, ripping her attention away from the angry looking boy and her memories, bringing her back to business. In his lap were six inches worth of notes with every detail he could possibly think of, and though Effie smiled and tried to play off the way the picture had captivated her, Darius could not be fooled.

"I wouldn't let myself get my hopes up on that one,” he said with a sardonic smirk. "All you'll get out of him is embarrassment, insult, and injury." One purple brow curved upward on his chiseled features as he looked Effie up and down. "He's really more trouble than he's worth, doesn't even bother with the Tributes most years. He may find you attractive with your curves, but don't expect him to do anything but drink and rage." His manicured hands straightened the papers on his lap, tapping them on his knees to make sure they were evenly stacked.

Effie felt my face go red again, she wanted to hug herself and hide those “curves”, feeling suddenly exposed, but she refrained and simply leaned back enough to change ankles, crossing the other behind the first. She cleared her throat. At twenty years old, she graduated from the Capitol School of Etiquette and Sophistication and had been chosen by the Headmaster as the recommendation for Darius’ replacement as Escort for the Hunger Games, taking his place as Escort for District 12. The more she listened, though, Effie couldn’t help wondering if she’d been thrown to the wolves.

"Well, then, shall we?" Darius opened his folder and skimmed the first page, searching for a place to begin. "It is a mining district, as I'm sure you are aware." He went on, sounding almost bored with a heavy sigh. "It is also the poorest in Panem, so don't be shocked when you arrive and find it malnourished, anti-social and…well, filthy." He opened his folder to a page somewhere a third of the way in and Effie watched, nodding understandingly. 

District 12’s monetary situation was by no means a secret, though it was a detail Effie had managed to forget in her excitement. Now that it was brought back to her attention, the reality sat in her stomach like a rock. If this interview went well, she would be tied to that dirty, impoverished little District for who knew how long? All her clothes would be ruined—she would need to have her stylists make an entire wardrobe of something that could be easily cleaned and dusted. 

Darius sat forward, clearing his throat and shuffling his papers. “Now, this is the most challenging part of this district. As you know," Crossing one ankle over one knee, he took a moment to collect his thoughts, pinching the bridge of his nose between two fingers while Effie swallowed hard and struggled to keep her smile in place.

"…As you know, each District team has a Victor from a previous year serving as a Mentor to the Tributes of the current year. Haymitch Abernathy is the only Victor District 12 has ever seen.” His hand motioned toward the wall where Effie’s eyes had just been, the motion agitated, bleeding irritation. "Mr. Abernathy won the Games nineteen years ago in the 2nd Quarter Quell." 

As she listened, Effie couldn’t help noticing that Darius' body had tensed, every muscle in his face retracting until his lips curled into a sneer.

“As I said, he'll be no help at all to you. It's like babysitting a wild animal with morphling withdrawals. The only thing I can tell you is be prepared for anything, expect everything, and have back up plans from B to Z. The only thing one can do with Haymitch Abernathy is damage control." Darius let his purple eyes scan over the young girl before him again, studying her. "You're small, can't weigh much, either…and if you're always as quiet as you have been today then he shouldn't give you too much personal trouble. As long as you leave him alone, he'll leave you alone, or at least that's what I've found. As much as I dislike the man, he isn't predatory. That's as close as I can come to complimenting him."

Effie’s throat felt tight, her mouth painfully dry as she stared back at him. The way her stomach flipped and twisted into knots inside of her, she feared she might never eat again, yet, still, her smile remained serene and in complete control. “I will do my very best, Mr. Bolstram, and as you said upon my arrival, my best is very good.” 

He watched her face face for a moment, looking almost regretful and then leaned forward, offering her the folder with a sigh.

"I'm sure you will. I only hope you can find a bit more fire before meeting him than you've had here. You'll need it, or else you're not going to last a week.” He stood and Effie joined him, hugging the folder to her chest chest. "I do wish you luck, Miss Trinket, study that folder. I've given you everything you need to know in those pages." 

Staring down at her large blue eyes, her false lashes dancing against her high cheekbones, he shook his head, smacking his dark lips together before holding out an arm to escort her to the door. Once there, he opened it and offered a small bow at the waist, the meeting was finished, whether Effie had questions or not. It seemed that—regardless of her credentials, Effie was the only candidate for the position. She should have known.

She was the Escort of District 12 before ever setting foot in this penthouse.

 "You will find your new schedule on the first page. May the odds be ever in your favor."

Nodding, offering a small smile, Effie stepped passed him into the hall and turned back to wave. Taking a deep breath, she managed to remember rule number 4.

Always smile.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rules to Remember:
> 
> 1\. Keep pristine and proper manners at all times, holding the perfect posture and carriage. Appearance and charm matter.
> 
> 2\. Keep your schedule with you at all times. Do not deviate.
> 
> 3\. Never participate in public confrontation, do not allow anyone to see you shaken or flustered.
> 
> 4\. Always smile. A cheerful countenance can be the key to salvaging even the most horrific social disasters.
> 
> Additional rules to follow.


	2. Her time to shine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Effie is throwing herself into preparation for the coming Hunger Games, and gets a little surprise about a very important detail that Darius Bolstram withheld in her interview.

Darius Bolstram’s notes were extensive to say the least. Effie spent the following weeks studying them, memorizing them, and when she wasn’t locked in her apartment, she was dressed to the nines in the latest designs of her new stylist. The Games were fast approaching and the closer they came the more determined Effie was to be perfectly prepared for anything. Amidst her studies, and networking at galas, Effie wrote draft after draft of her reaping speech, practicing before her own reflection in the mirror as she tried to get it right. 

“Welcome, welcome!” she beamed, hiding her teeth behind her perfectly purple lips. She wanted to keep her image soft, warm—determined to make the District and potential Tributes realize that it truly was an honor to be chosen in the Hunger Games. After all, that was what she had been trained to do. 

“We are entering into the—“ her lips smacked together and her shoulders fell as she scoffed at herself. “—No, no. That won’t do.” 

Pacing in a small circle, dressed in a stiff pink skirt and blouse, a heavy purple wig atop her head, the only thing out of place were her bare feet as they sank into the fluffy carpet. As she paced, she tapped one delicate finger against the corner of her mouth thoughtfully and dug her toes into the carpet, feeling it caress her skin. Finally, Effie took a deep breath and faced the mirror again, slipping into character, adjusting her posture with her hands held delicate at her shoulders, one hip jutting out to show off the cut of the dress and her very slight curves.

“Welcome! Welcome, to the 64th annual Hunger Games! I am honored to stand before you and join you in this momentous occasion!” Her arms stretched out in a beckoning gesture and a twinkle lit her eye.“Today we pick one lucky young man or woman to represent this lovely District for all the Capitol to see!“ 

Energetic. 

Cheerful. 

Optimistic. It was a good, strong opening greeting and Effie felt a shiver of excitement run down her spine as a squeak of a giggle bubbled passed her lips. 

—Better. Better!” she exclaimed happily, her dimples sinking into her cheeks as she reached for her pen and journal. 

Quickly writing the greeting down, Effie set the notepad aside to pour herself a cup of coffee before trying again. Practice made perfect, and she was far from perfect yet. Before she could even pour the cream, however, the familiar chime of Panem’s news rang through the apartment, calling her attention away from her task. Taking her coffee, Effie quickly stirred in the cream and a spoonful of sugar and slipped into the main room to take a seat before the screen. 

Caesar Flickerman’s face took over the screen, his bright hair—turquoise today—reflecting the lights of the studio and glittering with flakes of gold as he smiled for the cameras. He had a perfect smile, a captivating smile, and Effie made a note of it for herself. A smile went a long way in the world and especially an audience. If she could smile and make it seem as excited and real as Caesar’s always seemed, well, that would be half the battle, wouldn’t it? 

“Hello! Hello! Hello!” he chimed, his arm flying out to his side like a singer at the opera, his other hand holding his long microphone to his mouth. “Thank you for joining us today, because today—“ and he paused, eyeing the camera, the audience, letting the silence drag out, the anticipation building. “Today…we have a very special guest. The guest you’ve all been waiting for—“ Effie sat, her attention raptly captured as she mentally examined every detail of his hosting habits. If she could learn anything from anyone, she could learn how to keep an audience’s attention from Caesar Flickerman. “—This year’s Gamemaker for The Hunger Games!” 

The crowd went wild and Caesar bloomed under the applause, his arms stretching out and his head tipping back as though welcoming a flood, or expecting them to throw flowers. The confidence that bled off of him was almost tangible and Effie felt goosebumps rush over her skin as she watched. If only she could be half the host he was, she would have no trouble announcing the Tributes at the Reaping. 

“Thank you! Thank you, yes! We’re all _very excited!”_ and here, Caesar’s voice rose several octaves, coming out through clenched teeth as he bounced on his toes. Effie, drawn in by his enthusiasm, sat forward in her seat. The announcement of Head Gamemaker was always the announcement of the year, only second to announcing the victors, and this year had been especially hush-hush. Finally, backing away from the audience and toward his chair, Caesar eyed the cameras as though he were about to share a deep secret. “Join me now in welcoming, the previous Escort of District 12, Mr. Darius Bolstram!” 

Effie felt her heart skip a beat, frozen in her seat, her lashes sprung open wide. “It can’t be!” Effie gasped, her painted nails a bold contrast against her powder white skin as they covered her lips. “Why, you sneaky—no wonder I was hired so quickly!” They needed a replacement so he could focus on his new position. 

Bolstram stepped out on stage to a rush of applause and lifted his hand in a charming wave. His hair and cosmetic accents were so darkly purple that they were nearly black today, opposed to the almost lavender they had been at Effie’s interview. His lips painted so dark against his faint, light blue skin gave him an ominous, mysterious look that Effie didn’t like. He seemed much friendlier with the lighter shades, though, she supposed this was a more authoritative style. 

“Caesar!” he crowed, his grin wide and sharp as he extended a hand to the host. “Thank you for having me! It’s a pleasure to be here!”

“It’s good to have you, good to have you! Please, take a seat!” Caesar replied boisterously, clasping the hand and motioning with a flourish toward the open chair at the same time. 

They took a seat and Caesar hushed the crowd as he swung an ankle over his knee and tapped his notes on the arm of his chair. “Now, Mr. Bolstram,” 

“Darius, please,” 

Caesar’s eyebrows shot up, a twinkle in his eye, clearly charmed, “May I call you Darius?” he asked, sounding surprised. 

“I’d be insulted if you didn’t, Caesar,” Darius replied, his smile spreading wide to show off his perfectly white teeth. 

Caesar nodded, his cheeks tinting, “Well, I’m flattered, thank you, Darius,” he shifted in his seat, shuffling his notecards. “I must say, this has come as quite the surprise for many! Forgive me, but not much has ever come out of District 12, those coals have never been turned to diamonds, if you’ll pardon the expression.” 

Darius laughed, “You’re not wrong, Caesar, but I wouldn’t count the Mining District out yet, but then, I’ve got a thing for under dogs.” 

“Am I mistaken in believing this was all quite sudden?” 

Effie scoffed, her eyes darting over each man as the camera took them both in, “Of course it was sudden. Who leaves a position in the middle of a prep season?” she snipped, her gaze falling on the thick stack of notes on the table nearby. 

“Well, I have been in negotiations for some time, but it has not been a decision that was made lightly. It seems sudden to the public, I suppose, but it has actually been in the makings for about three years now. I’m a man that likes to be prepared,” his voice was smooth, unfaltering, and Effie could hear murmurs from the crowd over the camera speakers. 

“Speaking of preparation,” Caesar hedged, dropping the foot on his knee to trade out with the other, right over left, now becoming left over right and showing off his bright pink socks. “What about Prep Season? The Hunger Games are fast approaching, who have you left to take your place? Who can fill your sparkling shoes?” 

Darius laughed, his head tipping back slightly before he sat forward, straighter, “Ah, now this is the interesting part,” he began, his face turning smug. “I’ve chosen a new up-and-comer! Top of her class in the Capitol School of Etiquette & Fine Arts, comes with shining recommendation letters, a fresh, young mind and face, untainted by any other position or employment—she’s perfect the perfect candidate to mold into the perfect Escort! Perfect!” Leaning forward, Darius propped his elbows on his knees and rubbed his hands together eagerly. “Just think—“ he said, “—someone who’s only ever seen the Games, but never _experienced_ the Games. She will be getting a first hand experience along with the Tributes, and—“ 

“—Wait, wait, wait, I’m sorry to interrupt-“ Effie could only blink at the screen as Caesar sat forward, his face just as confused and shocked as she felt in that moment. “—Are you saying she’s brand new? You make her sound as though she’s fresh out of school!” 

Darius sat back, putting his fingers to his lips as his eyes sparkled with intrigue, “She is,” he waived his hand and there was suddenly a very large picture of Effie on the screens, her smile warm and sweet and terribly young. 

The crowd gasped. 

So did Caesar.

Effie blushed. 

“So, let me get this straight,” Caesar frowned, “She seems like a very lovely young lady, but she looks so young! Will this be her first job? And she’s meant to manage a Victor and Tributes?” he sat back, wide eyed, “That’s quite a lot of pressure. Who is this remarkable young woman?” 

“Her name is Effie Trinket, and she’ll be the Trinket of this year’s Hunger Games, just you wait and see.” 

The interview continued, speaking of technical details, Darius’ stylist and the basic direction he planned to take things this year, but it was all a blur to Effie. Why on earth had he not shared this juicy little detail with her before airing it to the public? Why had she not been asked to join him for the interview if she was going to be a topic? Now everyone knew how inexperienced she was, how _young_ she was and her heart was racing with the idea of so many eyes watching her once the cameras were on. Of course she knew people would notice her youth and how new she was to the scene once the Reaping aired, but to know so many details about her so soon? 

How would she ever show her face outside of her apartment? So many people would have so many questions! 

She stood and paced the apartment, her fingers fidgeting with the ruffles of her skirt. On her third pass over the carpet, there was a knock at her door and the girl started, yelping and slapping a hand over her mouth in her surprise. “Who’s there?”she called, quietly crossing to the door. 

“It’s Perseus, Miss Trinket,” came the reply. “Your stylist?” 

Letting out a breath of relief, Effie opened the door and ushered him and his team inside. “I’m sorry, Perseus, but I just saw the news and I must confess, I’m rather overwhelmed.” 

“Well, of course you are!” he exclaimed, reaching out to pull her into a hug. “It was such a shock!” Pulling back, he looked at her with bright green eyes with catlike pupils. “Not to worry, though, my dear! It only means we’ll need to make you look so fabulous that they think every time they see you is the first time!” 

Effie shifted from one foot to the other, still standing on tip-toes to reach him in the hug. “You have been so very kind, Perseus,” she smiled, “Thank you. I don’t know how I would manage all this without your support. You’ve made the last few weeks seem so much easier than I imagined.” 

He patted her shoulder, “Don’t fret, you’ll get frown lines.” With a nod to his team, they all began setting out their things, a wardrobe display, makeup, a trunk full of various styled wigs. “We have to define you, make you a memorable persona that everyone will recognize. We’re going to make you a household name, darling, and we’ll have a blast doing it!” 

“It’s true! This is my favorite part!” One of his assistants chimed in. 

Another nodded and started setting out busts of bald onyx heads on the countertop, placing the wigs on them for display, “Trust us, honey, this is the best thing that’s ever happened to you!” 

It was terrifying, it was huge, and it left her head spinning with possibilities. So much would change, so much about _her_ would change, but who could say no to such an opportunity? Effie released the grip she had on Perseus’ jacket and backed away to take in the little fashion bubble that was taking over her apartment. Without any more warning, the stylists circled her and the changes began with an urgency that took her breath away. 

Getting her into a chair, they primped and pinched, they stripped her down into a simple gown, her hair falling in long loose waves once freed of the wig she wore that day. They took her hands and enhanced her nails, extended them, painted them, and rubbed and massaged oils into her skin to give it a porcelain glow. It was everything she’d always wanted from the resources the Capitol had to offer in the way of beauty treatments. 

“Oh, darling!” a woman said above her as she massaged lotion into her cheeks and forehead. “You’re skin is absolutely divine! We’ve hardly had to touch it! We’re simply preserving it, really. I would _kill_ for skin like this!” 

“If you’d stop tanning so much you _would_ have skin like that, Jillie” Effie peeked one eye open to look down at the man doing her nails just in time to catch him tossing a kiss toward Jillie behind her head. 

“You’re a beast, Drake,” Jillie replied, but there was nothing in her tone to make her seem sincere. 

“Did you all know about Mr. Bolstram?” Effie asked, trying to find a place to join the little group. 

Perseus came over with a dress, holding it up for Effie to see, “Oh, yes, he warned us, but we were sworn to secrecy,” he said, his smile gleaming. “How do you think we knew to come over so soon?” 

“It was quite a shock,” Effie said, nodding and smiling a little at the dress—though it wasn’t her favorite. “I didn’t imagine he would advertise me like that.” 

“Sweetie,” Drake tugged at her fingers, “you’re part of the show now. You’re whatever he wants you to be.” 

Jillie pulled her head back to continue rubbing whatever cream she was using into Effie’s face. “Really, now. You shouldn’t complain. It’s an honor to be given the position you’ve been given such a privilege! Especially at your age—“

Effie sat up, “—Oh, no, no! I didn’t mean to complain at all it’s just—“ 

Perseus was at her side, patting her arm, “It’s a lot to take in. Don’t worry, dear, nobody thinks you’re complaining, but it’s best not to ask too many questions like that, hm? It might give some people the wrong idea. You wouldn’t want to seem ungrateful, would you? That would just be bad manners.” 

The young escort watched him, nodding gratefully for his help, but ultimately deciding he was right, and thinking better of asking any more questions. 

“Just relax and let us pamper you,” Jillie crooned above her, sliding her silken hands over Effie’s frowning brow and beneath her chin, down over her neck. “This is your time to shine!”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rules to Remember:
> 
> 1\. Keep pristine and proper manners at all times, holding the perfect posture and carriage. Appearance and charm matter.
> 
> 2\. Keep your schedule with you at all times. Do not deviate.
> 
> 3\. Never participate in public confrontation, do not allow anyone to see you shaken or flustered.
> 
> 4\. Always smile. A cheerful countenance can be the key to salvaging even the most horrific social disasters.
> 
> Additional Rules: 
> 
> Rule 5: Don't ask questions


	3. Into the wild

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one might be a tad longer than the others, but I hope you like it. Effie makes her transition from the Capitol to District 12.

The next day, Effie stood below the scrawling sign of one of the Capitol’s most prominent restaurants. Athena. It was beautiful, a tall glass building with rare flowers decorating every spare inch and long silk canopies of fabric draping from the ceiling. It was warmly lit, and the wait staff was dressed in symmetrically matching designs, their wigs were colored to match at least one of the flowers in the room, their clothes all a leafy green, making them appear to be walking flowers, most of them roses. Effie had dreamed of dining here, giggling about it with friends from school, and now? She took a quick breath in to steady herself, her cheeks aching from her smile as she flounced inside and gave her name to the hostess.

“Oh, yes of course!” the girl glowed, her hostess uniform a literal glowing gold, her makeup designed to give her a look that resembled sunshine. “We’ve been expecting you, Miss Trinket! Please follow me,” she led Effie to a seat, one of the best tables in the house, smiling as she set out a menu for drinks and lunch, “Mr. Flickerman will be with you shortly, Miss Trinket. He was very excited when he made the reservation.” 

Effie raised a smile of her own, her dimples cratering in her cheeks as she straightened the utensils and menus so that they were in perfect lines, “Thank you very much,” she replied, watching the girl walk away and return to her station. 

Taking up the beverage menu, Effie glanced over it, taking in the elegant fonts that titled each drink. Eventually, she settled on a rose wine and set the menu aside, taking her compact and lip gloss from her clutch. She took her time checking her face and giving her lips a once over to reapply the shimmer, deliberately distracting herself from searching the colorful faces around her for her companion. She didn’t have long to wait. From her right, a familiar, happy voice rang out, and Effie snapped the compact shut.

“Oh, you stop that! You look divine!” 

Effie turned in her seat, a bright smile lighting up her face as she rose to be quickly wrapped in a tight embrace. “Caesar! It’s so lovely to see you!” 

“Not as lovely as seeing you,” he crooned back through tight lips. When Caesar got excited, he always sounded as though he were talking to a puppy, or a baby in a buggy. Effie couldn’t bring herself to care, though, his enthusiasm was always sincere, and it was nice to know something was real and sure in the midst of her overfull mind. “Sit, sit, please.” 

He gallantly helped her return to her seat and joined her at the table, crossing one leg over his knee and lounging back to get a good look at her. “You look amazing, my dear—“ he quickly threw up a hand, his brows furrowing in amusement, “Not that you normally don’t, of course! But, clearly, you are making good use of that styling team! Am I right in thinking Perseus is the lead stylist for you now?” 

Effie nodded, “Yes, that’s right, and thank you so much,” one manicured hand raised to waive for the waitress. “This is such a new fashion for me, the wig is so much more elegant, and the clothes—“ she took a breath and sighed it out, averting her eyes with a coy smile. “It’s all quite a lot to take in, I don’t know how I was chosen for such a privilege, but I am very grateful.”

Caesar watched her as she spoke, his cheek propped against two fingers with a knowing sort of smirk that made Effie shift in her seat. “Your parents would be very proud,” he said at length. “How are you feeling? Suddenly in the spotlight, all glitz and glam, dazzling lights—“ he waived a hand and sat forward to prop his forearms on the table, his fingers templed together at the tips, eyes gleaming. “Do you love it?” 

“Oh, my goodness,” she replied, feeling her cheeks flush. Effie rarely spoke of her parents, attempted not to think of them too often, feeling their absence just as fresh as the day they first vanished. It was only thanks to Caesar and his guardianship that she had been able to remain in school. His friendship with her father had made him as good as family and Effie was sure she would not have been able to survive without him. Still, she didn’t linger on the mention of her parents and latched onto the more recent events. 

 “It has been such a rush! How _do_ you manage it every _day,_ Caesar? The questions, the stares, I think I was stopped six times just on my way here to tell someone every bit of what I’m wearing!” 

He chuckled and nodded along, “Yes, yes, it can be quite taxing, but rewarding in the long run. You’ll appreciate the attention when it comes the time to find sponsors for your tributes.”  

A hand came up to cup her cheek and Effie stared back at him, “I know! I have already attended six galas to meet so many people—the other Escorts, sponsors, its all been such a blur! And the Reaping is just next week!” she quieted and leaned forward slightly, her eyes darting from one side of the room to the other, “I’m so honored for the position, but Caesar, do you really think I’m _ready?_ I’m so _nervous!_ ” 

He reached across the table and covered her hand with his own, patting it gently, smacking his lips together with a ‘tut, tut’. “Hush, hush,” he soothed, “You’ll be absolutely perfect. It’s completely normal to be nervous, I still get nervous before every show! If _I’m_ always nervous, then you certainly have the right to be, considering you’re so new and fresh, my dear.” 

It was lovely to hear. Caesar Flickerman of all people was nervous before going on the air. If he could be nervous, then she might not be as hopeless as she felt. “You really think I can do this? That I’m the right choice?” she asked softly, squeezing the fingers he had curled over her hand. 

Caesar’s face softened, that sharp grin slowly folding into something warmer. “Effie, my dear, dear girl,” he said, “They would be fools not to choose you.” Leaning back in his seat again, Caesar released her hand and did a little waive of his own, flicking his wrist with a flamboyant nonchalance. “Besides, you really have nothing to fear when you can come to _me_ for advice! Who else has such connections?” 

She stared back at him, blinking slowly, feeling the feathers at the edges of her false lashes tickling her cheeks. He meant it, she could see that he believed in her, believed she could do this, but there was something else that the girl could see in the corner of his eye, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on, but it made her stomach twist. There was no time to question him further as the waitress returned to take their order. 

Once their orders were set before them, Caesar took his time cutting his steak in small, bite sized pieces while Effie did the same with her salad. 

“So,” he began, one brow raised with a smirk. “I assume you’ve seen the Victor you’ll be working with, hm? Haymitch Abernathy?” 

Her eyes shot up, widening a little as she held her fork half way to her lips with a strawberry stabbed on the end. “I’ve heard of him, and I saw the video of his Games while researching, but I honestly can’t seem to find much in the way of current footage, no. Why? Should I worry about that?” she asked, her tones hushed. 

Caesar’s eyes gleamed and he lifted his napkin to his lips to dab away invisible dirt, “No, no,” he said quickly, a chuckle on the edge of his voice. “He’s harmless from what I can tell. He simply enjoys his liquor a little too much, but then, who doesn’t? He’s made himself entirely uninteresting, you haven’t got a thing to worry about, my dear.”

Effie sagged back in her seat with a relieved smile, finally taking the bight of strawberry and chewing it slowly, savoring the taste—at least, she savored it until Caesar began to laugh lightly, his head falling back in delight. 

“What?” she demanded, amused. 

He shook his head, patting the air with a hand to appease her. “Nothing, nothing—“ he assured her, “It’s just—Let’s just say it will be interesting to see you take authority over a team like this. You’re such a sweet little thing, Effie, and Haymitch Abernathy—“ he shook his head, already entertained by the thought of them working together. 

“Mr. Bolstram has given me very extensive notes about everything, surely it can’t be as bad as all _that.”_ It was a weak sort of hope, because Effie knew dealing with Mr. Abernathy would be one of the most difficult parts of this new position. 

“Well,” Caesar chuckled, taking another bight of his steak. “We’ll just have to see, won’t we?” 

 

The time flew by in a blur, and faster than Effie might like, and she was boarding the train for District 12. The train was more extravagant than anything Effie had ever had the privilege of using. The train was beautiful, nothing but the best, no expenses spared, and it moved at two hundred miles an hour; ghosting over the tracks, speeding passed the countryside through Panem. Each District had a train line and its own train, the tracks spreading out in a sort of wing formation with all the tracks coming together at the Capitol. Due to the varying travel times, each Escort was scheduled to leave in time for them all to arrive at their Districts at the same time, and for each Reaping to begin simultaneously. The track to District 12 was easily an entire day and night of travel, meaning her train was scheduled to leave first, and Effie used every spare moment to pour over Darius’ notes. 

_District 12 is a mining district, so be sure you remain spotless while there. It will be tricky, but you are the face of the Capitol at the Reaping, and nothing less than perfect is acceptable._

_Keep the schedule moving. Tardiness is not to be tolerated. It is up to you to keep the program from falling behind, and everything will be recorded live. If you are not in perfect sync with the other Districts, then you_

_Do not mix with the populace, speak only to the authorities, the leadership of the district, your team, your Victor, and, when the time comes, your Tributes. No one else should waste your time, and neither should you._

Well, that didn’t seem very appealing. How was she supposed to be cheerful and friendly if she wasn’t allowed to speak with anyone? She had been reading for several hours already, her tea tepid and untouched at her elbow. With a sigh, she leaned back and rubbed her fingers firmly up and down between her perfectly sculpted brows. Her bracelets jangled and clinked together, filling the silence of the room and snapping her out of her hypnotic study to glance around. The next time she stepped on this train, there would be children joining her, and Effie took a moment to imagine their little faces sitting across from her, tried to imagine herself in their shoes. She had never left the Capitol before, and nothing could prepare her for this new experience. 

The door opened with a hush of air and Effie glanced over her shoulder to smile as Perseus slipped through, a bright blue drink in hand. 

“Good afternoon,” he greeted as Effie set her paperwork aside. 

“Hello, Perseus,” she replied warmly. “I’ve just been trying to prepare a little more while I have the chance.” Holding out a hand, she indicated he should take a seat and he did with a cheshire grin. 

“I don’t know that it’s possible for a person to be more prepared, Miss Trinket,” he said, “You’ve done nothing but study from the moment I met you.” 

Effie blushed, “Well, I do my best—and please,” she met his eyes, “Call me Effie. We can be friends, can’t we?” 

He looked back at her with a quiet laugh, his catlike eyes shining, reflecting the light shining in through the windows. Effie felt her smile turn bashful. Perseus took a sip of his drink, “Effie,” he said as if placating her, a moment of silence stretching between them as he studied her. She couldn’t help fidgeting in her seat, uneasy. “You are charmingly naive, my dear little friend, I hope you never change.” 

Her eyes shot to his face again, having dropped to smooth out a wrinkle in her skirt, hoping to escape his scrutiny until that moment, “I beg your pardon?” she gasped, her lips parting in affront. 

“I promise you, Effie, I meant no offense,” he assured her, holding a hand up to make her pause. “There are not many women your age who say they wish to be friends with their Stylists and mean it without agenda, that’s all.” 

He leaned back, his arms straightening out over the arms of his seat, his fingertips gracefully bracing the glass of his drink, “I believed you when you said that—when you asked if we could be friends.”

Effie’s ruffled feathers smoothed out as he explained, making her tense posture ease, “Well,” she began, uncertain. “I did, of course I meant it. Why is that such a silly notion?” 

Something softened in his eyes, in the jut of his usually arrogant chin and, somehow, that new warmth in his expression made her more nervous than anything else had thus far. He didn’t say anything for a long time, simply raised his glass in toast, “It’s not silly at all.” 

He stood and Effie watched him as he crossed the few steps between them to drop a hand on her shoulder, “Don’t study too hard, all right? You need your rest, too. It’s a big day tomorrow, after all.” 

“I’ll try my best,” she promised, watching him until he vanished into the next car.

 

District 12 was a hot dusty mess. The moment she arrived, Effie was forced to bring her handkerchief up to her nose and mouth, hiding from the overwhelming stench of the mines. Coal, sulfur, and dry, dry dirt—no place for a soft pink dress and open toed shoes. Once off the train, Effie cast a glance around at her team, her eyes widening slightly as she struggled to maintain her composure, to hide her shock, and disgust at the smell. Around the train terminal, people peppered the area. They were thin, some practically gaunt with clothes that hung in thin, threadbare curtains over their bones, and everything was dusted in soot. They all gaped at the Escort and her team with wide grey eyes, grey to match their clothes.  

There was no time to stand and stare, so Effie straightened, lowered her handkerchief to her chest and met Perseus’ eyes with a nod, “Well, let’s move along, shall we?” she chirped, looking to her left as the town car pulled up, sent by the Mayor for them. “We have a schedule to keep.” 

Once in the car, Perseus on her left, and Drake and Jillie across from her, Effie finally let out a breath she had been holding, “Oh, my word! Nobody said anything about such a horrid smell!” she laughed and fanned herself, “And it’s so hot! It’s sweltering! How am I going to avoid melting your beautiful work right off my face?” 

Drake and Jillie snickered, Perseus grinned. 

“That’s why you have us along, Effie,” Perseus assured her. “Now, we worked one year with Mr. Bolstram, and we’ve met Haymitch Abernathy before, so we suggest you prepare yourself.” 

Drake and Jillie laughed again, nodding as Jillie leaned forward. “He’s an animal, Effie, filthy…and you think the District smells?”

Drake dropped his voice to a whisper as though Mr. Abernathy were already in the car with them, “He smells like sour liquor no matter what we try. Eventually, we just gave up and laid his clothes out for him and hoped he could dress himself.” 

Perseus cleared his throat, noting the way Effie stiffened at his side, “All right, you two, you’re faces are far more attractive when seen and not heard.” 

The duo sat back, their faces awash with amusement and whispered amongst themselves as Effie turned her face to the window. By the time they reached Victors Village, Effie had regained something of her excitement, pushing away the nervous butterflies in her stomach as she let Perseus take her hand and help her out of the car. Drake held a shading parasol above her head so that she might climb the four steps to Haymitch Abernathy’s front door. The paint was old and chipped, and the plants on either side of the stairs were dead from lack of care. 

Distantly, somewhere behind the house, Effie could hear the awkward honking of geese, and was reminded of a note in Bolstram’s file that warned her that Haymitch raised the birds, and to watch out for their beaks as they liked to bite and nip at frilly things. It would not do to have a run in one’s stockings, or a missing piece to a skirt or some other important trinket. 

Smiling at her team, two of which were hiding laughter behind their hands, Effie raised her gloved fingers and rapped lightly on the door. 

“Mr. Abernathy?” she called lightly. “Mr. Abernathy, we’ve arrived! It’s time to prepare for the Big Day!” 

No answer came, and Effie cast an uncertain glance at Perseus who merely cleared his throat. “Perhaps we should just go in, Effie. He’s not known for being punctual.” 

She gasped, “You mean, simply waltz in without an invitation?” 

Drake let out a choked sound as he could no longer contain his laughter, “Effie, dear, Haymitch Abernathy is not going to give anyone an invitation anywhere.” 

Suddenly irritated, determined to prove Drake wrong, she huffed through her small nose and twisted the doorknob, giving the door a push and finding it refused to open any further than a few inches. “It’s stuck, something seems to be blocking it.” 

“Maybe he passed out and blocked it himself,” Jillie giggled. 

“Really, you two! That is quite enough!” 

They straightened, shocked at her sudden temper. “Stop blithering and help me get in! We’re going to be late at this rate!” 

Biting his lower lip to hide the urge to smile, Perseus stepped forward and put a hand on the door, pushing it open to the sound of sliding piles of clothes and rolling empty bottles. Effie gave him a nod of thanks and stepped inside, her six inch heels pocking on the hardwood floor. 

“Mr. Abernathy?” she called again, hearing something rustling down the hall. “Oh, my word. You two—“ she waved a hand at the assistants. “Go and open the windows, let in some air—“ she stepped over a pair of pants, pushed a bottle aside with the toe of her shoe, and held Perseus’ arm as he offered it for balance. “Mr. Abernath—“

The hurried stomps of heavy feet interrupted her as Effie neared a doorway to what could only be the kitchen. “—Oh, there you are, it’s a pleasure to meet you, I’m—“ 

She had spoken too soon. Spoken as soon as she’d seen his figure coming around the corner, coming around the corner too quickly. Suddenly, the rumpled victor swung out of the kitchen, grabbing hold of the door frame, and threw his head forward. As he wretched, Effie could do nothing but stand there in her open toed shoes and and realize she that in less than an hour on the job, she’d already broken one of Mr. Bolstram’s rules. 

Always remain spotless.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rules to Remember:
> 
> 1\. Keep pristine and proper manners at all times, holding the perfect posture and carriage. Appearance and charm matter.
> 
> 2\. Keep your schedule with you at all times. Do not deviate.
> 
> 3\. Never participate in public confrontation, do not allow anyone to see you shaken or flustered.
> 
> 4\. Always smile. A cheerful countenance can be the key to salvaging even the most horrific social disasters.
> 
> Rule 5: Don't ask questions
> 
> Additional rules:
> 
> Rule 6. Remain spotless at all times.


	4. Reality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Effie's first Reaping.

Effie Trinket was dressed in the best fashion the Capitol had to offer, and she was standing in a hot puddle of steaming vomit, flecks of it splashed up against her ankles. As she stood there a slow, deep tremble started between her shoulders, spreading through her arms, fingers, and traveling to her legs. She couldn’t move, could barely breathe. The stench of the vomit, slowly growing cold as it soaked into her shoes and stockings was overpowered with sour liquor and whatever else had been in his stomach. She stared straight ahead, her lips pressed into a tight, thin line and remained perfectly still save for the trembling that was growing worse by the minute. If she looked down, she would be adding to the puddle, her own stomach churning disloyally as she fought to keep her composure.

The Victor watched them all through heavy lidded eyes, his gaze dropping lazily from their faces to the mess he made and back again. “Welcome to 12,” he grit out, his voice rough and slurred.

The team all looked on with wide eyes, Jillie turning an odd shade of green and Drake laughing nervously. It was enough to break the silence, cut the tension.

“Drake!” Perseus’ voice echoed through the hall, so sharp and clean that it made the two assistants start in surprise. “Hop to! Go back to the train and bring back the second pair of shoes and a new set of tights. Be quick about it!”

Drake nodded and fled, not bothering to close the door behind him as Effie finally moved. Perseus was at her side, gripping her elbow and leading her past Haymitch Abernathy and into the kitchen to a seat while the Victor grunted at them on their way by.

“Jillie, find a clean towel and get some water—and find soap, if he even owns any.”

Jillie snapped to action as Perseus helped Effie ease into a seat to avoid her slipping in the mess and Haymitch turned and leaned against the doorframe. A lopsided, weak smile played about his lips as he raised a mostly empty bottle of whiskey for another sip.

“Aw, the Princess got dirty? That just won’t do for the show, will it?”

Effie leveled her eyes at him, a seething stare boring into him as Perseus removed her shoes, his hands covered in two tattered wash cloths he’d found somewhere. Jillie hurried over with a basin of water, a cloth of her own in one hand and began wiping down Effie’s legs so they could remove the tights. With her dress, Effie couldn’t reach her own feet, the skirt was too complicated for her to bend over that far.

“Mr. Abernathy,” she quipped, her voice drawn tight and trembling with disgust.

He perked, his brows shooting up and his shoulders wobbling as if warding off a chill as he chuckled, “Oh-ho! The poodle has a temper! Come on, sweetheart, you gonna yip at me?”

Perseus cast a glance up at Effie from his place kneeling at her feet, “Remember, don’t let him get a rise out of you,” he whispered.

Breathing through her nose, Effie raised an ankle to give Jillie and Perseus better access to the filth, but her eyes never left Haymitch’s face, “Mr. Abernathy,” she said, proud of the calm that she was able to adopt. “I’m very sorry if you feel ill—“ Jillie made a noise, a choked little laugh, and Effie kicked her and went on. “However, we do have quite the busy day ahead, so if you would please take some time to get cleaned up, we can proceed with our schedule.”

He studied her through glassy eyes, his whiskey held up and the mouth of the bottle resting against the side of his mouth, “Lady, I ain’t ill, I’m drunk,” he said at last, exasperated. “There’s a difference. Now, who the hell are you, and where’s Bolstram?”

Effie’s head jerked back, the curls of her wig bouncing around her chin, her large blue eyes searching Perseus’ face at her knees in confusion. He merely shrugged, looking back at Haymitch over one shoulder as the man took an unsteady step closer.

“Mr. Abernathy, did you not see the interview on Caesar Flickerman’s show? It was broadcast to all Panem,” she hedged cautiously, watching carefully as he leaned against the sink. He looked irritated now, the amusement all gone from his face. “Mr. Bolstram is Head Gamemaker now, and he’s chosen me to be his replace—“

He glared at them, all teasing gone as his own temper began to rear its ugly head.

“What’re you? Sweet-sixteen? You’re supposed to be the escort for District 12?” he suddenly felt far too sober, and wanted—needed another drink. He didn’t go for one, though, not yet, he took a looming step forward, closer to the slight figure seated at his table and the stuffy man and woman kneeling at her feet. “He expects you to Reap these kids when you’re practically a kid yourself?”

Effie gawked, her pale purple, glittering lips parting as her brows met together in a deep set frown. She jerked her feet away from Perseus and Jillie and shot to her feet, bare and a good deal shorter than the Victor standing over her. For weeks, now, Effie had heard nothing but doubts and questions as to her capabilities—everyone underestimating her, but this was the last straw. To have a man who had never even heard of her before, one who could hardly manage proper hygiene questioning her abilities set her teeth on edge and she could take no more.

“My name is Effie Trinket,” she informed him hotly, her chin jutting out. “I am twenty years old and I’ll have you know I graduated with honors from the Capitol School of Etiquette and Refinement. I have been thoroughly trained, and extensively tested and I will carry out my duties efficiently whether you are pleased with the decision or not. Now—“

His face slowly fell into a glaring stare, his eyes narrowed and mouth pursed tightly as his temper coiled beneath his brows, but Effie didn’t flinch. “—If you would please take yourself to the washroom and clean yourself up so that we can continue with our schedule, I would greatly appreciate it!”

Behind her, Perseus and Jillie stood slowly, trading glances and stepping forward just in case they might need to pull Effie out of the way should the Victor get violent. Victors were terribly unpredictable creatures, after all. Haymitch’s eyes pinned them in place, though, and then returned to Effie and closed in on her, coming closer until her nose actually twitched at the stench of stale liquor leaking from his pores. His Seam grey eyes traced her from head to foot, studying her, judging her, and it was all Effie could do not to cross her arms or step back to retake the space he had filled.

“Trinket,” he scoffed, testing her name with a harsh sniff. “This job’s gonna eat you alive, Princess.” Without another word, he turned, grabbed an extra bottle of liquor on the counter and stomped upstairs.

Effie didn’t move until she heard the water start to run in the bathroom. Then, and only then did she let out a shaking breath as she eased back to sink into her chair again.

“Effie, that was—“ Jillie beamed, laughing ridiculously as she came over and hugged Effie’s shoulders with one arm, rubbing her back and staying close as the young Escort sat trying to regain her composure.

“Thank you, Jillie,” she blushed.

Perseus was smiling, watching her with new eyes, “Looks like there’s a fire in you yet, Miss Trinket,” he said.

At that moment, as Effie smiled up at her team, Drake returned with her new tights and her replacement shoes in hand, panting from having run from the car, “I have them! Am I late? I have them!”

“You’re not late by way of the schedule, Drake,” Perseus chuckled, “But, I’m afraid you missed the show here. Miss Trinket just whipped our new Victor into shape!”

Effie blushed and hid her face in her hands while Drake made a low whining sound, “What? I missed something like that?”

“Don’t worry, D’,” Jillie simpered, coming over to wrap an arm around his shoulders, “I’m sure there will be plenty more drama to come.”

“Let’s just hope you’re wrong about that, Jillie,” Effie interjected, slipping between them to take the new stockings and shoes from Drake. “Shall we?”

 

Later, Effie squinted past the glass windows of the Hall of Justice. From here, she couldn’t make out the faces taking their places in the audience, but she could imagine them gathering together in what they considered their finest clothes, sweating through the thread bare material. District 12 was known for the unforgiving heat, and as per orders from her team, Effie was remaining safely in the cool marble hall, avoiding the sun to save her makeup from melting. Giving up on trying to make out anything interesting, Effie turned away from the window and closed her eyes, practicing her speech in her mind, miming the words with her lips.

“You sure you got it in ya to do this, Princess?”

Her lashes fluttered open as her eyes rose the frumpled length of Haymitch Abernathy’s unsteady figure.

“Well, I’ve only been preparing for this day for months,” she replied, shuffling her cards in her hand to put them back in the proper order. She would have to start over, run through it all once more now that she had been interrupted.

He scoffed, the sound bitter and wet in the back of his throat as he took a flask from his inner breast pocket and unscrewed the cap. The metal on metal was scratchy, making the hair on the back of her arms stand on end, “You can’t prepare for what you’re about to see, lady,” he replied, gasping passed a gulp of the liquor.

Effie’s eyes followed his hand as he moved the flask up for another drink.

“Never have believed you Capitol prissies were able to take kids from their families without feeling anything. Never seen an Escort as young as you, either. I got money ridin’ on you burstin’ into tears before we even get off the stage.”

Effie’s purple lips parted, her golden brows, thick with paint, meeting at the middle, “I beg your pardon?”

Haymitch actually laughed, “You can beg all ya want, but I ain’t givin’ you a thing. Trust me, by the end of the day, you’ll be takin’ enough.”

He turned and staggered toward the front doors of the Hall, and Effie could only stand there, staring daggers at his back as she fought for words. “How dar—“

“Effie? Let’s get those ruffles smoothed, darling, it’s nearly time.”

Her glare shot to her left, falling on Perseus who only straightened and blinked, “Something wrong?”

Forcing herself to breathe, Effie shook her head, smacking her lips together in irritation. “No,” she stated. “No, nothing at all.”

Soon, the countdown began and the doors opened. Effie stepped out onto the stage, her smile stretching from ear to ear as she held her hands out to either side, her elbows held in toward her waist. Looking back, she knew better than to expect applause, this wasn’t a Career District. These people didn’t appreciate the honor they were being given, but the young Escort had not anticipated the only sound in the little square to be her heels pock-pocking over the stone stage as she made her way to the microphone.

For a moment, Effie felt her stomach twist tightly with nerves as she stared out over the hundreds of faces in the crowd. Their sunken eyes, their hollow cheeks, the dark layer of coal dust that covered their skin, it all stunned her. Had they made no effort at all?

Glancing back over her shoulder to where Perseus, Jillie, and Drake all stood, Effie cleared her throat and nodded as they all waived for her to go on.

“Welcome!” she began, barely containing a wince as the microphone screeched. “Welcome! —To the 64th Annual Hunger Games…”

No one moved. Not one made a sound.

Effie took a bracing breath and soldiered on. “Before we begin, allow me present to you the history of this great tradition.”

The screens behind her lit up and the music blared on staticky speakers, but Effie took the time to back up and give the story the spotlight, allowing President Snow to have his word while she stole a moment to have a word with her team.

“Is this how they usually are?” she asked in a frantic whisper, all the while keeping her smile firmly in place.

“They’re coal miners, Effie,” Jillie said with a roll of her eyes. “You can hardly expect them to be civilized.”

Effie’s smile faltered then, but only briefly. Across the stage, standing near the stairs, Haymitch was watching her with a smile that could melt ice, and Effie couldn’t help thinking he might not be as drunk as he wanted them to believe. It made her uneasy, it made her want to wipe that smug grin right off his face. He merely raised his flask to her, and that was all it took. Her smile returned, she wouldn’t let him see her slip up.

Straightening, she flounced back to the microphone just as the video went dark, her poise returning, her enthusiasm amplified. “Isn’t that just fabulous?” she asked, tapping her notecards against the microphone. “Today is the day we choose one lucky young man and woman to Represent District 12 against all other Districts. These two chosen ones shall join twenty-two others in the Capitol for the Honor of Serving in the 64th Hunger Games. Now—”

She ignored the people as they shifted uncomfortably, as they stared back at her with a hopelessness she didn’t understand. “Ladies first.”

The silence continued as Effie tracked her way to the left and dipped her hand into the massive glass bowl and swirled it around. Distantly, somewhere in the crowd, someone sobbed, but the sound was cut off, covered up. Effie cast a glance at Perseus—the one person to seem even a little supportive in this whole ordeal, but he looked steely, his eyes staring out into the crowd without blinking. He struck an imposing figure in his sharp suit and dark colors, and when Jillie and Drake sniggered together, Perseus merely snapped his fingers at his hip and they drew themselves up abruptly, their smiles vanishing.

Her hand dipped into the bowl, and in that moment, Effie thought her heart might stop. This was it—the defining moment—the last act that would make her position as Escort of District 12 official. Swishing her hand around, she finally took hold of a folded piece of paper, drew it out, and read the name once in her mind to practice, and then returned to the microphone.

“Annabelle Clearwater.”

Her voice rang out, echoing her pure tones across the sea of faces as murmurs traveled softly through the crowd.  
Effie squinted out, raising her hand to shield her eyes from the glaring sun as a girl of about sixteen stepped out of the crowd. She shuffled into the dirt path made between the boys and the girls, her gate halting and tense as she approached the dais. Effie beamed a big welcoming smile as she crossed the stage to the stairs where she held out her hand in welcome as Annabelle made her way up the steps. The girl was pale as a ghost, her olive skin a sickly yellow color that made it look as if she might throw up at any minute if she had anything in her stomach at all.

One thing above all that she noticed about the people of District 12 was how terribly skinny they all were. Surely, if they could only manage to find someone to lead them properly and manage their funds better they would not be so hard off. It really did set their children at a disadvantage going into the Hunger Games, though, and Effie intended to do her best to amend that.With the girl finally standing beside her, Effie placed a hand on her shoulder and held her arm out to the crowd.

“Such a brave girl!” Effie cooed.

The silence that followed was deafening. Even Effie’s attempt at applause was swallowed in the rebellious quiet of the crowd. When no one joined her in the applause, her sharp blue eyes glanced around at the men and women of the District Council behind her, at her team, and finally, at Haymitch Abernathy. He stared directly at her, his grey eyes pinning her in place, and Effie had to look away. The air felt stale with silence, the heat of the day only making it that much more suffocating. Not one of the faces behind her spoke, even Jillie and Drake had sobered in their amusement. All stood stony and unmoved, but Perseus gave a small nod that encouraged her to keep going.

“Well,” she said, clasping her hands together. “Moving right along, last, but certainly not least—“

With a flourish of her wrist, Effie reached into the bowl and swept her fingers around, noisily disturbing the slips of paper inside. When she finally closed her fingernails around the edge of a paper and drew it out, Effie could feel the tension in the audience pull tighter than ever. It made the three steps back to the microphone feel like three miles.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the male Tribute for District 12 in the 64th Hunger Games is your very own—“

“—Shit, just get it over with,” Haymitch grunted from behind her.

“Thomas Rhodes.”

This time, as her voice rang out over the crowd, there was no mistaking the heart wrenching cry of the child’s mother, or the pitiful voice that followed as it called out to her. Scanning the crowd, Effie looked out to see the boy as the peacekeepers guided him to the podium. He was young, so young that she found herself checking the paper for his age, and her stomach sank when she saw the number twelve looking back at her. Glancing back over her shoulder at the people in line behind her, Effie had to take a deep breath— they were all stone faced and useless, all except Haymitch who stared her down as fiercely as ever. There was no chance to hide her shock at the child’s age before he saw it on her face, and though he looked bitter, Effie couldn’t say her looked surprised.

Clearing her throat, she returned to the crowd, her smiled firmly in place as she gracefully crossed the stage to greet the boy, her hand smoothing over his shoulders as she drew him to her side and guided him over to where Annabelle waited.

“Splendid, splendid!” Effie exclaimed, her voice shaking behind her smile. “Now, shake hands,” she instructed, standing between them with a hand on each shoulder.

Their hands joined, Annabelle’s covering Thomas’, both shaking terribly.

“Now, if you’ll face the crowd, please, yes, that’s right dears, perfect!” Effie stood behind them, half hugging them both as they faced the crowd. “District 12, I give you your Tributes!”

It was time to go, to give the children their moment to say goodbye. While the peacekeepers ushered the children to their waiting rooms, Effie took a moment for herself, sequestering herself away in the far corner of the front parlor to check her makeup and go over her schedule for the tenth time. Her throat felt tight, her cheeks felt flushed, and for the life of her, she could not understand why. It was the same thing every year, every District was required to give up two children. It should not be such a surprise that one could be young.

“What’s the matter, Princess?”

Effie looked up, startled. “I beg your pardon?”

Haymitch looked back at her, reaching into his breast pocket to retrieve a flask. He unscrewed the cap, the noise grating on Effie’s nerves. “Look a little squeamish, that’s all. Ain’t as easy when it’s not on a screen, is it?”

She huffed, rolling her eyes as she smoothed out her skirt over her lap. “I don’t know what you mean. It was simply quite hot out. I’m perfectly fine.”

“Sure, you are,” he chuckled, raising the flask to his lips. “And you’ll be fine in a few weeks—if that—when I’m on my way back to 12 alone, and have to face their parents in town every day.”

Effie shifted in her seat and pursed her lips. “Really, Mr. Abernathy, if you already assume they’ll both fail, then what good are you as a mentor? We’re supposed to be their support system, we’re supposed to make sure they don’t lose.”

He laughed, then, loud and cold. He laughed so hard that the liquor he’d just swallowed threatened to come back up again and Effie tucked her feet beneath her chair to hide her shoes.

“Oh, sister, that’s rich!” he said when he finally caught his breath. “They really did pick a winner with you, didn’t they? Where’d they find you? Have you seen these Games?” Shaking his head, he raked his hair back out of his face and his humor faded as he heard the footsteps of her team coming toward them. “Everybody loses the Games, sweetheart. There are no winners. The sooner you figure that out, the better.”


	5. Smiles On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a tad shorter than the last, but I'm attempting to build up some momentum since I was gone for so long. More to come!

Effie bustled everyone onto the train in record time, pushing her schedule hard in order to escape the lingering stares and taunts of Haymitch. He seemed determined to upset her, latching on to any little weakness that might slip past her defenses, but Effie learned quickly and she was doing her best to lock anything but her smile away tightly. There would be time enough for feelings when she was alone in the privacy of her room. Luckily, as soon as they were on the train, Haymitch staggered through the little group of stylists and the two Tributes, stomping toward the bar-car with relentless determination. 

With a sigh, Effie removed her gloves one at a time and slapped them both into one hand as she stepped closer to the children. “Well, then, I suppose that’s that, hm?” she asked. “Consider this your home away from home until we reach the Capitol, dears. Enjoy yourselves, eat whatever you like, and you just let me know if I can do anything to make you more comfortable, all right?” 

Annabelle and Thomas raised their gazes, their faces smeared with soot that seemed to cling to the air thanks to the mines. Effie was tempted to reach out and wipe the dirt away, or ask Jillie or Drake to see to it, but before she could open her mouth, the children were at the table and shoveling food into their mouths. 

“What—Children, manners! _Please!_ ” Effie gasped, horrified as they practically gagged themselves trying to swallow it all down. “Really, now! You’re going to make yourselves sick like that!”

Perseus sighed beside her, his hands fidgeting with his cufflinks. “This is rather common, I’m afraid,” he admitted, drawing her attention away from the children. “District 12 is lacking in rations. When the children are introduced to what the Capitol has to offer, they often lose their senses. We’ll give them a pallet cleanser if they feel sick, don’t fret.” 

Taking her hand fan from her belt, Effie snapped it open and waved it over her flushed face. “Well, I never,” she smacked her lips and inched around the children and the food table to take a seat in the parlor, Perseus, Jillie, and Drake following after her. Utterly scandalized, she leaned forward, whispering to them from behind her fan. “I read every single word and reviewed every single video there was to see on this position, and what awaited me, but I suppose one can’t _ever_ be prepared for _everything_.” 

Perseus reclined back in his seat, an ankle crossed elegantly over one knee as he smiled at her.“If you ask me, you’ve done a splendid job thus far, I wouldn’t be too hard on yourself. You can only work with what you’re given, and no one would have reacted so well to your first impression of Mr. Abernathy.” 

Jillie dissolved into a fit of giggles, rudely interrupting the rosy blush gracing Effie’s cheeks and quickly turning it into a flush of embarrassment. “Oh, but it was so funny!” she exclaimed, earning a glare from Effie. 

“Jillie, dear, you shouldn’t laugh at others’ misfortunes. You never know when the shoe might be on the other foot,” Effie told her with a prim sweep of her fan. 

“Well, those shoes won’t be on anyone’s feet ever again!” Jillie replied. 

Drake, grinning like an idiot, leaned forward and waved his hand in the air between them to get Jillie’s attention. “I still don’t know the whole story! Jillie, fill me in!” 

Effie felt green at the very notion of reliving that experience, and Perseus, gentleman that he was, must have noticed, because he was shooting the two stylists a glare that had them both quieting almost instantly.

“I do believe that’s quite enough out of the pair of you,” he told them sternly. “There are things that require your attention in the wardrobe car. See to it that everything is organized and in perfect order before supper, but don’t speak of this morning again. You will remember that Miss Trinket is your manager, not your equal.” 

Effie’s eyes were locked on his face, wide with shock as her fan slowly turned to hide the lower half of her face from the other two sitting there. It would not do to have them see the way she smiled then, or the hint of a flattered blush creeping across her cheeks. No one had stood up for her in such a way before, and Perseus seemed to be making a habit of it, however small. 

“Come along, Drake,” Jillie said, rising and looking down her nose at first Effie, then Perseus. “It seems as though seniority means nothing in this little group. I’ll tell you everything you missed while we work.” 

Drake stood, looking just as sour, and fixed his gaze on Effie. “We thought you’d be more fun than Mr. Bolstram. You’re just a wet blanket,” he said, thrusting his nose in the air as he offered Jillie his arm. 

Effie waited until they were gone before she rolled her eyes, doing her best to keep them from seeing her react. “That was just uncalled for,” she said, primly laying her fan in her lap as her posture straightened. “Very unprofessional. I do wonder if I shouldn’t write a report on their performance. They may be talented in their profession, but they do need more training in carriage, I’m afraid.” 

Perseus bit back a smile, though he couldn’t stop the far left corner of his mouth from tipping up as he sat forward in his seat. “That won’t be necessary,” he said, waving his fingers dismissively. “They’re not as bad as they seem, it’s just growing pains as they adjust. Transitions are never easy, you know.” 

Standing, he glanced back at the children who had slowed in their feast and crossed the car to a table where a decanter with lavender liquid sat beside several crystal glasses. He filled two a third of the way and brought them back to retake his seat. “You really did a fantastic job today,” he said, offering Effie one of the drinks. “I expected you’d do well, but I hardly expected you to do that well. Even Bolstram was a little intimidated by Haymitch the first time they met. And Haymitch barely said a word. He certainly didn’t vomit on his brand new shoes.” 

Effie felt the blush returning, that new heat in her cheeks that spread throughout her body every time he complimented her. It was silly, it made her feel like the girls in school she used to lecture. There was no time in a lady’s life for distractions when there was a career to be had, not when a career in the Capitol meant so much for your future. Still, she couldn’t help smiling, and her fan snapped out and fluttered toward her face as she accepted the drink. 

“Perseus, please,” she said, bashfully averting her gaze. “You flatter me.” She took a sip of the drink, letting the taste of lavender and grape wash over her senses in a brief moment of distraction, but she could still feel his eyes on her. “I merely followed the rules, kept to the schedule. Anyone could do it.”

“No,” Perseus replied, thoughtful as he watched her. “No, I don’t think they could. I believe you’ll make quite the splash for this little team—“ 

“Isn’t this cozy?” 

Suddenly, the room went quiet—even the loud, animalistic chewing ceased as Haymitch entered the car. In one hand, he held a large glass bottle of amber liquid, in the other a glass with ice, his suit coat discarded somewhere and his shirt already untucked. Effie could feel a headache coming on, but she offered a strained smile in his general direction. 

“We were just discussing how well Miss Trinket’s first Reaping went,” Perseus explained, waving a hand in the direction of one of the empty chairs. “Won’t you sit?” 

Haymitch looked at them through veiled grey eyes, his jaw clenched as he breathed a rattly breath through his nose. “I will,” he said, throwing himself down in the seat next to Effie so that his drink sloshed out over his glass. It splashed on his hand, and to her horrified gasp, he licked it away. Effie turned her face away, her fan fluttering faster. 

“Must you always be so uncouth?” she muttered. 

Haymitch only laughed, raising his glass to her with a nod, “It’s my specialty, Princess.” 

Effie smacked her lips with a huff, but before she had the chance to say anything, the children came shuffling over, awkward and hesitant as their large wide eyes stared. Instantly, Effie’s smile returned, bright and shining as she sat forward on the edge of her seat and held out a hand to Thomas. 

“There you are!” she exclaimed as if she had been searching for them. “How was your meal? Are you quite full? I suppose all the excitement worked up an appetite for you!” 

Thomas reached out shyly and placed his hand in hers, but Annabelle simply stood there with her arms crossed. Effie saw the questions on her face, on both their faces, but Annabelle looked as though reality was only just settling in, and turning green around the ears. 

“Annabelle? Are you quite all right? Did the food not agree with you, sweetie?” 

The girl shook her head and Haymitch sighed. “Would you stop fussing at them? They know what they’ve got themselves into, sweetheart, they don’t need you pretendin’ they’re going to a ball. They’re going to an arena.” 

Effie’s gaze snapped around to pin him in his seat, “I know that, Mr. Abernathy, but there is no need to be so careless about it! They have every right to enjoy themselves, and it’s my job to help them. Just as it is yours to mentor them, so I suggest you—“ 

Perseus cleared his throat, interrupting her tirade and giving her the chance to take a breath. Haymitch poured himself more liquor and smirked over the rim of the glass as he watched. She closed her eyes, and slowly, she found her smile again as she turned her attention back on the children. 

“My apologies, children. I shouldn’t lose my temper like that. Is there anything I can do for you? Get for you?” 

“I—I want to go home,” Annabelle stammered, shifting nervously from one foot to another. 

Thomas squeezed Effie’s hand and nodded, “Me, too. My stomach hurts.” 

Effie’s eyes sought Perseus’, worried and wide as she quickly scanned through her mental notes on just how to respond to this specific situation. Haymitch beat her to it. 

He sat forward, resting his forearms on his knees, his glass cradled between his palms and the decanter hung between his fingers. “Well, there’s no going back now,” he told them, his voice surprisingly soft. When Effie looked his way, she was shocked to see a warmth there, a—pity? That didn’t feel quite right, but it wasn’t her experience with him thus far. “It’s a tough gig, but once your name gets called, you know the play. All you can do now is listen to what we have to tell ya, pay attention to what I have to say when I’m talkin’ to you, and we’re gonna do our best to get you home.” 

He sighed heavily through his nose, “There’s no sense cryin’ about it. Not yet, anyway.” Sitting back in his seat, he drained his glass and hissed as the silence stretched out between everyone. 

Perseus and Effie traded glances, and Perseus just shrugged, at a loss. 

“Well, that was helpful, wasn’t it? I’m certain Mr. Abernathy will do his very best to be just the mentor you need, dears. Not to fret! I have a good feeling about this year!” 

Thomas tugged his hand away from Effie’s, and she felt her heart sink with the loss of it—as though that simple gesture were somehow a punishment. The sting of it was shocking, and suddenly, she felt tears stinging at the backs of her eyes. 

“Well, then,” she said, still smiling, her voice firmly settled in that pleasant hostess octave. “I’m certain Haymitch has quite a lot to tell you, and I would hate to rob you of your time with him, so if you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll go freshen up, hm?” Standing, she gave each child a gentle touch on the shoulder, wanting to impart some sense of comfort to them. “If you need anything at all, I’ll be in my room, but I’ll be back to check on you very soon.” 

Perseus stood with her, and as she hurried away, she was vaguely aware of him following her as he excused himself as well. The children didn’t ask for her to stay, but she did hear them asking more questions of Haymitch, her presence utterly forgotten. 

 

Once she was free of the parlor car, Effie paused a moment and dabbed at her eyes with her finger, forcing herself to take slow, deep breaths to regain control of her emotions. Perseus appeared at her shoulder, a pristine white hanky dangling between two fingers as he held it out over her shoulder. 

“Are you all right?” he asked.

Effie took the hanky, sniffling. “Oh, I’m fine, it’s silly—“ she dismissed herself, waving a hand before her. “I simply didn’t prepare for—for any of this as much as I thought I had,” she told him. “I memorized schedules, ceremony, scripts, but that—“ she flicked his hanky back int he direction of the children. “They want to go home? Isn’t it supposed to be an honor to be chosen for the Games? The Career Districts volunteer for heaven’s sake!” Her lip quivered, and though she ranted, there was no heat to it. 

Perseus stepped around to face her, his hand reaching out to cup her arm gently as she looked up at him. 

“How am I supposed to escort children to the Games who don’t even want to go to the Games?” 

He shook his head quietly, swallowing what seemed to be emotions of his own. “Miss Trinket—“ 

“—Effie,” she corrected him, soft, pleading as she dabbed at her cheeks again. 

“—Effie,” he smiled. “Not all the Districts view the Games as we do. This was your first time out of the Capitol, no?” 

She nodded the affirmative. 

“You’ll come to find not many people enjoy the Games at all outside of the higher Districts and the Capitol. That’s why I believe you were chosen for District 12,” he took the hanky from her and placed his fingers under her chin to lift her face as he carefully and meticulously touched up her makeup where it was beginning to smear. 

“What do you mean?” she asked tremulously. 

“If I might speak plainly,” he said, his voice shifting to something more coaxing while his focus remained on her makeup instead of her eyes. “You’re a breath of fresh air. That lifeless little District hasn’t seen anything as bright and shiny as you in years. Bolstram was uppity, a performer, but you took on the voice of a friend, even if they don’t look favorably upon the Games, you were different. Haymitch even seems to like you.” 

She laughed at that, gently pulling her chin away with a roll of her eyes. “What makes you say that?” 

Perseus smiled, “He hasn’t thrown anything at you, yet.” 

“No, he’s thrown up on me, though. What’s worse?” 

“Well, I don’t think you could dodge any sort of projectile very efficiently in the style I’ve dressed you in,” he teased. “But all joking aside, it’s hard to say. I’ve been the stylist for District 12 for some time now, you’ll just have to trust me. Stick things out, don’t let yourself get discouraged too quickly.” 

She took another deep breath, and this time it actually helped in quieting her aching, beating heart. With a nod, she reached out and touched his arm. “Thank you, Perseus. Really,” she said, offering him a small smile. “I’ll do my best. I think for now, though, I might take a nap. Maybe things won’t seem so dramatic once I’ve had some rest.” 

“That’s a very good idea,” he replied. “I’ll wake you if you’re needed and we can touch up your make up and hair before dinner later.” 

Quietly slipping past him, Effie looked back one last time before closing herself into the quiet of her room where she kicked off her shoes, removed her wig, and curled up in bed. She was asleep in minutes.

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This fic came about several years ago, and I'm really excited to be picking it up again. It was originally posted at fanfiction.net, but I took it down and changed the POV to give it a fresh face.


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